Phantom skaters in the park
turn, and glide, and never fall,
faces clouded, figures dark.
They are phantoms, after all.
Turn and glide with awful grace,
leave no measure, make no sound,
out of moment, out of place
all the earthly year around.
Phantom skaters on the lake,
known by no one else but me,
making figures for my sake,
invisibly, eternally.
Conrad Geller is an old, mostly formalist poet, a Bostonian now living in Northern Virginia.His word has appeared widely in print and electronically
Very eerie! Nice poem!
lovely. thank you.
Short is sweet! Yes! This poem is not only imaginative itself, but inspires it also. I wished I could also see those phantom figures! The art also is highly matching! Congrats!